His Emperor's Finest Son
by Eladamri Dael'Oyos
Summary: Captain Michael Nelo is among the Emperor's most trusted savents. But when he challenges one of the Imperium's strictest laws, he is courtmartialed and forced to decide which can withstand: His loyalty to the Golden Throne, or his own moral values.


Captain Michael Nelo, commander of the Raven Guard sixth company, gazed with contempt at the unruly settlement sprawled beneath him. A green tide of brutish soldiers surged through the camp, charging around great towers in a mad rush to prepare for the arrival of their foes. From these huge towers, great wooden banners rocked in the dusty wind, bearing the sigil of the warriors' clan. Meant to strike fear into the hearts of their enemies, the clan's identifying mark was a ferocious yet crudely drawn sun, with a devilish face grinning out from within it. The soldiers filed past a pile of guns, rockets and various other armaments, grabbing blindly at the pile and stocking themselves with grenades, slug weapons, and crude flamethrowers. Although the arms cache was a testament to the clan's ingenuity, it was haphazardly thrown together and teetered dangerously as each weapon was taken from it. A collective din rose from the camp and formed into a drone, shaking the land around the settlement with the soldiers' voiced bloodlust.

Nelo turned to one of the lieutenants who stood behind him on the bluff. "Blasted Orks," he said, and spitting into the dirt, "ready your battalions for combat. In exactly one half hour, you will rally on me and we will take the full might of the Imperium right into their teeth. Understood?"

The officer saluted smartly. Nelo acknowledged him with a curt nod and moved down the lines of soldiers. As he walked, he reviewed the men under his command. Clad in the near-impenetrable shell that characterized the Emperor's Space Marines, their jet-black theme gave the impression of a restless wave to the commander as he looked down each line of soldiers. As he passed, individual soldiers raised their weapons to him, the age-old warrior's salute before battle. The air was filled with the sounds of clinking weaponry, shifting bodies and the roil of the machinery that was interspersed between the infantry lines.

"Brothers" he said, reaching the middle of the line, "the Orks have been a cancer on this planet for too long. Today, in a glorious cleansing, we will remove all evidence of their presence in this area." Before he continued, he unshipped a large standard from hooks on his back, a standard marked with the Raven Guard icon. He hoisted this over his head. "Today, we fight for the glory of the Imperium. Today, we fight to instill a fear of the Raven into the hearts of these green brutes. For, today, brothers, we fight as Space Marines!" he turned and motioned down the hill with the flag, "Charge."

He careened down the rocky slope at an all-out run, the standard flapping in his hands. As he ran, he was filled with pride as a huge cry went up from the men and the thunder of hundreds of feet shook the slope down which he charged. Within moments, he was swallowed by the black cloud of charging soldiers. _The might of the Imperium, _he thought.

Before the infantry reached the Orkish settlement, however, the sky was shattered with explosions, sending green-skinned soldiers, weapons and parts of buildings high into the air in a shower of dirt and fire. The landscape rumbled under the force of scores of treads and hydraulic steps. Explosions and high-powered rounds buzzed into the enemy camp. Now, the machines of war began their advance. Mighty dreadnaughts lumbered among the soldiers, their mounted flamethrowers sending whips of fire arcing over the soldiers' heads. Artillery emplacements, codenamed Whirlwinds, remained on the bluff and rained death down upon the heads of the enemy. Nigh-impenetrable, Predator tanks crushed the land under their treads as they made their way down at the tail-end of the infantry advance. As the bluff flattened, Captain Nelo was met with a wave of green as the collective force of his enemy broke against the charge.

He planted one foot, transferring his momentum into the flagstaff, and brought the standard up into the chin of a moving Ork. The pointed end stabbed through the warrior's chin and stuck fast. Leaving the flag sticking straight up through the head of the creature in a macabre proclamation of the Imperium's power, he moved on through the unruly fray. Pulling an ornate sword from a hip sheath, he used it to cut a bloody swath through the enemy ranks. The weapon rippled with power, and passed through the impediments of flesh and bone as though they were cloth. A fierce cry pulled itself from the depths of his chest and he muscled onward, blindly, towards destiny.


End file.
